July 4^{th}. Hear nothing of her—so am tortured from post to post, for I want to know certainly _the day & hour of this Judgment_—She is moreover ill, as my Lydia writes me word—& I’m impatient to know whether ’tis that—or what other Cause detains her, & keeps me in this vile state of Ignorance—I’m pitied by every Soul in proportion as her Character is detested—& her Errand known—She is coming, every one says, to flea poor Yorick or stay him—& I am spirited up by every friend I have to sell my Life dear & fight valiantly in defence both of my property & Life—Now my Maxim, Eliza, is quietly [_sic_] in three[31]—“Spare my Life, and take all I have[”]—If she is not content to decamp with that—One Kingdome shall not hold us—for If she will not betake herself to France—I will but these, I verlily [_sic_] believe my fears & nothing more—for she will be as impatient to quit England—as I could with her—but of this—you will know more, before I have gone thro’ this month’s Journal.—I get 2000 pounds for my Estate—that is, I had the offer this morning of it—& think ’tis enough.—when that is gone—I will begin saving for thee—but in Saving myself for thee, That & every other kind Act is implied.—get on slowly with my Work—but my head is too full of other Matters—yet will I finish it before I see London—for I am of too scrupulous honour to break faith with the world—great Authors make no scruple of it—but if they are great Authors—I’m sure they are little Men.—& I’m sure also of another Point w^{ch}. concerns y^rself—& that is Eliza, that You shall never find me one hair breadth a less Man than you [32] —farewell—I love thee eternally—